


Three Short Stories About 1997

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 1990s, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: Three one shot stories, all set in the year 1997 in the Sophie Hollander Guinevere SeriesPart 1 - An Off-Colour Interlude, set 24 April 1997Part 2 - The End of All Things, set 31 August 1997Part 3 - All is Calm, All is Bright, set 26 December 1997





	1. An Off-Colour Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Kingsman takes a sick day, and another takes a holiday on 24 April 1997.

Sophie shuffled the bags in her arms, feeling for the key ring in her pocket before producing the key and entering the mews as quietly as possible. “Canary?” Harry called, his voice muffled and deep as he followed his timid call with an aggressive cough. Sophie rested the bags on his dining table before she sang cheerfully in return, “'Tis I, my dearest. I’ll be right with you.” She threw her coat across his dining chair and reached into the shopping bag, producing a bunch of bananas and followed the table into the kitchen. Placing two pieces of brown bread into the toaster, she began slicing the banana and pulling plates to place onto his breakfast tray. The toast popped up as Sophie turned back to the bags to collect the orange juice and smaller bag from the chemist. She pressed the button on the kettle as she passed it, collecting the toast and layering the fruit atop it with a light drizzle of honey before resting it on the tray. 

The kettle clicked, and Sophie poured a cup of darjeeling before she opened the medicine. She pressed each tablet from the blister pack, dropping them into the finger bowl beside the tea. Sophie stared at the tray, biting her thumb lightly as she checked that nothing was forgotten. “Newspaper…” she mumbled, grasping the paper and tucking the folded edition of _The Times_ alongside the plate. Sophie then gingerly spooned the bag from his cup and tossed it into the sink. She lifted the tray, smiled and walked slowly to the bedroom, giving the door a light tap with her shoe before stepping into the room. “Good morning, love,” Sophie said softly as Harry sat up and grabbed the other pillows to prop himself. “Let me help you,” Sophie said, setting the tray at the foot of the bed and stepping onto the steps along the bed to offer assistance. Harry intercepted her wrists, kissing her fingers before turning away from her to obscure a harsh cough. 

“My goodness,” Sophie sighed. She ran her fingers through Harry’s hair before resting her wrist against his forehead. “You don’t feel at all well,” she commented as she turned to retrieve the tray, “I’m going to collect the thermometer.” She set the tray at his lap and left the room as he sipped his tea. “No milk?” he asked as she returned, shaking the glass instrument in her fingers. “I’m afraid not,” she answered, “not with your congestion. I’ll gladly bring you some lemon or more honey if you like.” Harry rested his cup with a sigh that clearly indicated his disinterest in her offering, but opened his mouth to accept the thermometer without reluctance. In anyone else, his demeanor might pass unnoticed as polite but Sophie noticed his temperament shift immediately as his subtle fussiness betrayed his nature. He held the thermometer in his mouth and Sophie collected the flask from his bedside table and returned to the kitchen with it silently.

Sophie thought of all the children she had a hand in nursing over the years in care, working alongside Reverend Hislop and trying to be as helpful as possible. She refilled the kettle, switching it on before opening the flask to pour the old tea down the sink and wash the container while her water came to boil. She had actively campaigned for a sibling of her own, eager to impart her five-year old wisdom or perhaps establish a hierarchy within the house of Hollander. Her mother would follow her impassioned pleas with a patient, but firm, “Babies are a blessing from God, Sophie. If you want a sibling, you should say your prayers each night and be patient.” Sophie stomped away from her, impatient and determined to pray for **many** brothers and sisters. Sophie remembered this as she rinsed the flask and dropped a fresh tea bag into it, pouring the rested water into the flask and sealing it tightly before leaving the kitchen.  
The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed.

“Here we are,” Sophie said cheerfully, returning the flask to the bedside and reaching for the thermometer. She studied it, biting the inside of her cheek lightly as Harry chewed his toast. “You have a fever,” Sophie said seriously, “but not a serious one. Have you taken your medicine?” She looked over and observed it was missing as he cleared his throat and answered, “Yes, thank you Canary.” Sophie’s expression softened when she heard his voice break, and she leaned in to gently kiss him. “I don’t wish to make you sick,” he commented, turning away as Sophie kissed his forehead gently.  
“Quite right,” she responded, “of course.” She lifted the empty plate and juice glass from the tray, leaving the teacup as Harry examined the front page of the newspaper. Sophie returned them to the kitchen and emptied the bags before returning to the bedroom and checking her watch. 

“Must you go?” Harry rasped, disappointed. “Not just yet” Sophie replied hopefully, “rest your voice. Also, that flask was almost half full when I emptied it. You need more fluids than that.” She crossed her arms in an effort to exude authority, but her eyes shined as she smiled at him. “I expect this one to be consumed, if you would be so kind.” Harry stared back at her for a few moments before reaching for the flask and dutifully refilling his teacup. Sophie’s grin grew until she blushed and looked away, and she walked over to the small bench beside Harry’s shoe rack and sat down. “Thank you,” she offered as he raised the cup to her before taking a sip. He paused, holding the cup and gazing at her as she explained, “I also brought the VERY best chicken soup Waitrose counter had to offer, so please have lunch. If you do not feel up to warming it yourself I can pop back to prepare it. Simply message me this afternoon, otherwise I will see you tonight if that suits you.” 

Harry simply nodded, resting his cup on the breakfast tray which now rested beside him on the bed. Sophie glanced up, turning over the responsibilities in her mind and trying to ensure she had forgotten nothing before she continued on to the shop. Realizing she failed to see a box of tissues anywhere, she stood and left the room to procure a new box. “Oh, Harry…” Sophie called curiously as she collected them from the pantry, “you’ll never what I received in the po-” She stopped suddenly, returning to find Harry fast asleep. She smiled, creeping over to gently push the tray over and leave the tissues on it. She then cleared the paper from his lap and turned the duvet up over his chest as he slept. Sophie knew she wasn’t very good at caring for people, and had never been the maternal type, but moments like this made her wish she were. Perhaps just for a little while, for certain people. She kissed his forehead and softly closed the door.

Sophie tucked the envelope back into her trench coat, resolving that it could wait for another day. She collected his keys, tucked them into her pocket and slipped into the coat. She didn’t wish to leave, and would gladly while the afternoon away in the glorious silence of the mews as Harry snored softly if not for her meeting with Lancelot. Her research concerning nuclear materials entering North Korea had finally gained some momentum, and Lancelot agreed to assist her in posing as BBC journalists to meet contacts along the trade and hopefully disrupt the program before a weapon was possible. It was already a great deal of work, and looked to be a couple of years which could dramatically shift global politics. Sophie knew it couldn’t be postponed. She listened to his soft snoring a moment more before opening the door and continuing to the shop. 

 

Lancelot was waiting when Sophie entered the locker room, walking past him to hang her coat. “Guinevere,” he offered smoothly, “how lovely you look today!” Sophie paused, starting into her locker in anxious anticipation as she replied, “What do you want, Lancelot?” She closed the locker, turning back as he tried to appear innocent. “It is the 24th, at 10AM,” Sophie said slowly, “as agreed. We have a meeting, so we should push on.” Sophie began walking out of the locker room when Lancelot intercepted her, “Alright,” he admitted, “it’s simply that - there’s this girl from my club, and she has invited me to Berkshire this weekend as part of a shooting weekend.” Sophie licked her lips, sighing slowly as he explained. Some of her colleagues could be so tedious. She looked at him and his confidence faded. “I know other agents say you are a complete tightass, but you must understand wanting to get away before a long mission.”  
As if twisting a knife he wasn’t aware he held, Lancelot concluded, “You’re never here, you must understand.”

A light grin found Sophie, and she looked hard at him. This was the man she might be spending months working alongside. Bloody brilliant. “Those other agents,” she said softly, “are correct.” She followed this admission with a zealous nod, to ensure her point was made as his expression soured. She couldn’t deny enjoying to a certain extent as she watched his expression turn before it occurred to her that if he spent the weekend in Berkshire - she could spend the weekend at Harry’s with no one the wiser. “Well,” she huffed, reigniting his hopes, “perhaps I am being hasty, but if Arthur thinks we are bunking off we’ll both be in the soup. What to do...” Sophie leaned against the lockers, looking straight up to the ceiling.  
“Well, I’m certainly not going to say anything to anyone,” Lancelot offered, “if anyone asks, you and I were going over strategy this weekend.”

“That could work,” Sophie reasoned aloud, “but we’d have to really buckle down today in case he asks. Are you prepared to give me the five hours?” Sophie wondered how such obvious NLP training often went unnoticed, but then she wondered how much she failed to notice herself. Lancelot immediately straightened, “I knew it!” he blurted in hushed excitement, “This will be our little secret. Guinevere, thank you. I owe you one.” He took her hand in a firm shake as he remarked, “I knew you were one of the lads!” Sophie shook his hand, amused, “I sincerely hope you discover in time that I am very much not one of the lads. Shall we?” She gestured for them to continue to the Grail Pursuit office, her unofficial domicile within Kingsman. Even if Arthur had honestly intended to devote more agent resources to this department, nothing had ever come of it. Lancelot entered ahead of her and took a seat.  
_Prat_ , she thought as she closed the office door.

She emerged several hours later from her cluttered office, lecturing over her shoulder at her eager colleague. “That’s merely a primer, obviously,” she continued, “There are numerous files that I have uploaded to the network. You will need to study them, so make time this weekend.” Lancelot slipped his coat over his shoulders as he stepped into the corridor, walking past Sophie before turning back to face her. “We don’t leave until June. I will have it down by then,” he affirmed confidently, “and I will have twelve hours on the flight over. You worry too much, Guinevere.” Sophie blinked a few, slow blinks as her stare eroded Lancelot’s courage and he looked away. “You worry too little,” she replied softly, “Deep cover is different. We have to become these people, and that means the next month will be exhaustive training. North Korea will be the hardest mission either of us has ever seen, Lancelot.” 

Lancelot seemed bemused by this reality, as though Sophie chose for it to be this way simply to ruin his weekend. “If this mission seems…” Sophie offered gently, “more than you are prepared for, perhaps it’s best we go to Arthur and make other arrangements. That’s easily done.” Lancelot looked back at her, annoyed as he lifted his shoulders, “What are you implying?” he inquired. Sophie closed her eyes, sighing softly. “Nothing,” she answered as she tossed her hands into the air, “Only that I didn’t choose to be a ‘tight ass’ as you put it. I was made one.” Sophie leaned down, catching his view and drawing it back to her, “Agents should know the demands of this work.” For a moment, Sophie might’ve appeared vulnerable, if Lancelot had cared to notice. He had not, and took her remark as a nurturing one instead of a reflective one. He offered his hand and she shook it, both eager to be in better company as quickly as possible.

“Until Monday morning, Guinevere.” Lancelot said as he shook her hand.  
“Have a lovely weekend, Lancelot.” Sophie said, watching as he turned and walked away. She stared at the wood grain along the corridor as she stood pensive, wondering which agent had begun such a rumor. _How many of them laughed at it, even shared in it? Did Harry know of it?_ She wondered before considering that it might not be a rumor, but an appraisal. Sophie swallowed before she walked slowly toward the locker room, stopping as she heard the voices of several agents chatting casually within. She had been a Kingsman five years, but though she knew Harry to refer to several of these men as friends, Sophie had not a single example herself. It seemed to simply never come to be for her. Sophie took a deep breath, walking through and collecting her coat before leaving. “Have a lovely afternoon Guinevere,” Percival called as she exited. “Yes,” Sophie offered with a smile over her shoulder, “and yourselves.”

Sophie left the shop, turning the collar of her coat down in the lovely spring weather and trying to sweep the previous few hours from her mind. She wasn’t sure if being away made for the occasionally wearisome office encounter or saved her from their frequency, but she hoped that it was merely a fluke and not a symptom of something greater about herself. It’s one thing to feel out of place on occasion, but quite another to find that you are truly an outsider. Sophie contemplated this as she frowned in the video store, reading the back of the cassette box before adding it to the stack with a shrug. Maybe it was her fault, but when she considered that ‘being one of the lads’ was the goal, her rage grew. She was not one of the lads and that was never going to change. Sophie walked her selections to the counter, grabbing several packages of candy before ringing up and continuing to check on Harry. 

Harry was standing in the kitchen washing up when Sophie let herself in and set his keys upon the dining table with her bags. “Leave that for me Harry,” she chided, “honestly. You should be in your bed.” Harry dried his hands with a cloth as Sophie entered the kitchen to meet him. “Hello Canary,” he whispered, his voice scratchy but markedly improved. Sophie studied his face, resting the back of her fingers against his forehead to check his temperature. “It has subsided,” he assured her, “I checked before I got up. I needed a bit of activity and I am feeling much better.” Sophie traced her fingers along his temple and brushed them across his cheek as she gazed up at him. The color had returned to his face, and he did look on the road to recovery. “Kiss me Harry,” she pleaded, “I don’t care if you could make me sick, today has been wretched and nothing else will do. Please kiss me.” 

Sophie lowered her hand in a defeated drop to her side, heaving a deep breath that she released in a gentle huff. Harry leaned down, hovering near her lips as he looked into her eyes before leaning in and kissing her neck slowly. As he gradually began sucking just below her ear, Sophie made no effort to quiet her satisfied moans. “Oh Harry…” she breathed, running her fingers through his hair as he nuzzled and kissed her neck, backing her against his kitchen counter. “Tell me about you day,” he coaxed, looking up from her neck as she squeezed his in her arms. “Lancelot,” Sophie said simply, still tracing her fingers through his hair. Harry stepped back from her, turning to switch on the kettle and retrieve a second cup for Sophie. “I loathe speaking ill of a colleague,” Harry remarked flatly, “but I’ve always found him to be a bit of a prat.” His admission made Sophie smile, looking up to share in Harry’s humor as he closed the cabinet.

“Tightass,” Sophie said aloud, with no further inflection or explanation. Harry looked back at her as he returned the kettle, then looked down as Sophie noted his unfortunate expression. “So you know about the chatter? The rumor mill within Kingsman?” Sophie asked carefully, “I’m learning so much about my fellow agents and the things they discuss.” Harry lifted the tea bag from his cup silently while she slowly sipped her cup. She held it close to her face, letting the steam warm her cheeks as she looked through the door at Mr. Pickle on his little shelf. Her Harry proved to be quite a sentimental sort, and his silence was telling. “Did you say anything, when this description came into office conversation?” she asked directly. She took another sip as Harry drank his tea, considering how to respond. “Do you know how truly beautiful you are?” he asked finally. Sophie rolled her eyes at his attempt to diffuse the situation, “Harry, you cannot simply call me beautiful as an answer for any awkward question.” 

“Yes I bloody-well can,” Harry replied, matter-of-fact, “especially when I don’t feel well.” Harry leaned into her, and Sophie caressed his cheek tenderly. “I said it was callow to exchange in office gossip,” he said softly, “and that they should strive for better things to talk about.” He watched as a relieved smile washed over Sophie, which she obscured with her cup. “Of course you did,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Harry raised his eyebrows mirthfully, “As for your backside…” he began as Sophie playfully swatted him with an idle tea towel from the counter.  
“No,” Sophie said sternly, raising a finger as she left the kitchen and returned to her bags. She lifted the bag of Allsorts she purchased, displaying them for Harry while wrinkling her nose in mild disgust. “Thank you Canary,” Harry replied, amused at her judgement of his tastes. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be well enough to be out of bed,” Sophie explained, “but since Lancelot thought this weekend was best spent in the country I have no reason at all to report in to the office tomorrow.” Harry looked hopefully at her as she shrugged, turning back to the items in the bag. “I thought it might be nice to see a film. I so enjoy it and I never seem to have the time anymore. I went to the rental shop and I took out _The English Patient, Mary Poppins_ , and _Mission: Impossible_.” Sophie chuckled softly at the last selection, her cheeks frowning rosy as she juggled the boxes and Harry stifled a cough. “Did you ever watch that programme?” Sophie asked Harry as he finished his cup and set it into the sink. “I was not allowed to watch ITV,” he answered, taking a seat in the dining room as she cleared the items from her bag, “but I am aware of it. I could make you something for dinner, if you like?”

“I would like for you to snuggle up on the sofa, under your duvet, and rest,” Sophie instructed as she read the back of the rental cassette case, “you are not yet 100% and you need your rest.” She looked up, offering a nurturing smile as he stood to passed her. “As long as I may rest my head in your lap,” he bartered, kissing the back of Sophie’s neck as he passed. Sophie shook her head, carrying the candy and the vhs upstairs to Harry’s sitting room. “I was quite a fan of this programme,” Sophie admitted as Harry entered with a blanket. She pushed the cassette into the player as Harry unfolded the blanket and situated himself on the sofa. “This isn’t why you joined Kingsman, is it?” Harry asked mischievously. Sophie grinned, leaving the player and taking a seat on the sofa. “No,” she clarified as Harry rested his head in her lap and stifled another cough, “it was New Order that made me want to join Kingsman.”

Harry looked up at her as she selected a fruit pastille, his expression puzzled. “It’s a band,” she dismissed, “and a long story. I’ll tell you another time. Would you like a sweet?” Harry shook his head, shifting his focus back to the television screen. “I hope this is good, but perhaps not too good,” Harry mused, “spies are much more entertaining when they in a far-flung, absurd scenario.” He grasped Sophie’s hand, holding it against his chest as he watched, “I especially love the gadgets. There’s nothing that amuses me more than when they happen to have just the device they need. It must drive Edwin positively barmy to watch films like these.”  
“I know exactly what you mean,” Sophie agreed, “like when they cast some older leading man who wants to change his image a bit. I adore that.” They shared a laugh as the theme music began and they cuddled in the dark.


	2. The End of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does my heart go on beating  
> Why do these eyes of mine cry  
> Don’t they know it’s the end of the world  
> It ended when you said goodbye
> 
> \--Skeeter Davis

SUNDAY

Sophie sat in the back of the cargo plane as it returned the first extraction crew to England. The wind whipped her hair as she shed the skyhook harness and secured it in storage. She spoke to no one, turning over the events of the day as she stood in shock. Lancelot was dead. The extraction triggered and as she was pulled in by the plane’s lift, only to watch powerless as the military shot Lancelot in the back of the head. Sophie set the detonator with the harness before closing it and returning to her seat. She could taste the gunpowder in her mouth, and all she could think of was his face as she slipped away from him. He looked...pleased. Sophie began to question her senses as she thought about those last moments on the hill. Then, as the adrenaline faded and the reality set in, Sophie began to feel more alive than she ever had before, and she was deeply ashamed of it. 

She missed Harry terribly. She felt in a fog of him, her mind drifting to holding him, smelling his cologne, and she longed to hear the encouragement in his voice as he called her ‘canary.’ Sophie knew that no matter how low she felt, he always brought her back to peaceful. Sophie feared being overly emotional in his presence but couldn’t quite understand why. In truth, she simply preferred to keep her emotions private. The unpleasant ones in any case. She wanted every moment with Harry to be lovely and happy and still. Perhaps she’d wait a day or two before meeting him to claim that most desired cuddle. One should always strive to put her best foot forward. Sophie had a tendency to really lean into her ‘Britishness’ in times of trouble, a trait that Harry found incredibly charming. With her lip ever so stiff, Sophie reminded herself that the worst was over.

The plane touched down, and Sophie wondered if Harry would be at the office. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, so she would need to rest but the desire even to see him kept her focus. Just see him, she thought, then sleep.  
She took the elevator to the gym for a quick shower before she changed into a dress and caught the shuttle to the shop. Sophie almost started to feel normal as she entered the dining room.

“BREAKING NEWS: Diana, Princess of Wales,  
has died after a car crash in Paris.”

As it reported over the wireless, Sophie was terrified that it might be true. She rushed to the panel, calling up the BBC to see it confirmed. Sophie sank into one of the leather chairs as if in a daze. It wasn’t until she glimpsed the surrender wave of Arthur’s handkerchief that she discovered she had been crying. She accepted the pink cloth from Arthur with thanks before drying her eyes. This week was going to be absolutely dreadful.

 

MONDAY

Sophie sat in the vacant chair, surrounded by her colleagues in the dining room. There was an ominous silence that settled over the table, as each agent was certain they gathered to toast their fallen colleague. Sophie sipped her tea, acknowledging no one at the table. She was still numb, and no really sure what to say to those sharing in her grief. Merlin entered with his clipboard and reported a successful extraction of Lancelot’s remains, reporting that Guinevere had successfully destroyed all identifiable traces of their mission on site. Sophie nodded to signify her acknowledgement of the information. She didn’t feel relieved at the information, she was simply too overwhelmed by the empty feeling which had plagued her since it happened. Arthur spoke, and the agents all lifted their glass and swallowed the brandy in unison. “We are all very relieved you returned safely,” Percival comforted with a gentle tap on her wrist.

“I’m sorry it worked out the way it did,” Sophie whispered back to him, though several agents were focused on her as she said it. She noticed the attention as she glanced around the table, taking in the gazes or each agent, Galahad included. Sophie took a slow, steadying breath and said somewhat nervously, “I did try to take him as well. I didn’t want any of this to happen, but I suppose I didn’t make it clear.” Sophie fell silent, unsure how to explain without going into the entire event, which she did not want to do. “I’m sure Lancelot did what he believed was best,” Gareth said, “it must be especially difficult when you are struggling in the field. Communication is so very important.” Sophie was puzzled by his comment, which was incredibly hurtful but sounded genuine in it’s sympathy. “Well I did try,” Sophie couldn’t stop herself from commenting, but immediately regretted as her tone was picked up by every man at the table with pity.

“We all try when working together, and sometimes we don’t strike a good balance.” Gareth advised, “Then again, you don’t exactly make it easy. It must be the unique challenges of deep cover work.” Sophie raised her eyebrows, mildly annoyed by his condescending tone. Even when she was the only agent in the room with the experience, these men were going to advise her without any solicitation. “You have no idea what deep cover is like,” Sophie said, smirking. Her tone was light and unaffected as she stood and collected her glasses, “What I don’t understand is why you seem to think it’s my job to make these things easy for you.” She nodded slightly to Arthur as she stepped back from the table, “If you will excuse me,” she excused herself, “I have work to do.” A few younger agents watched as Sophie walked from the room without looking back. “My condolences to Lancelot,” Gareth said snidely, “there’s an assignment I wouldn’t rush to replace.” 

“More fool you,” Harry said, his contempt evident as he cleared his throat, “if this organization is going to devolve into petulance at the mere sight of an agent who happens to be female, we are going to wind up burying more than a colleague.” Harry cast a disapproving glance across the table, stopping at Arthur. “Since childishness seems to be the latent trend in shop talk, I will also find something more befitting my time.” Harry stood and collected his files, “I only hope these recent exchanges can be explained away in our recent grief, and that someone among us is gentleman enough to apologize to Guinevere for having to entertain it.” Harry looked back, driving his point home with Arthur before leaving. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone as he walked through the doors and continued through the shop to the elevator. He passed the offices, but failed to see Sophie, and hoped she left the office entirely as he turned to report to Merlin and discuss the coming recruitment.

“Hello changelings!” Sophie exclaimed as she entered the common room at Joseph of Arimathea. The children, now on the threshold of 'teenagedom', looked up with varying levels of enthusiasm. Sophie was immediately relieved at their indifference to her. If recent events were any indication, being considered dear and unique could be as trying as not being considered at all. Sophie figured this was merely the way of it: things without all remedy should be without regard. Good old Shakespeare.  
“A most welcomed surprise,” Reverend Hislop said, hugging her tightly, “To what do we owe this special visit?” Sophie smiled her first real smile in days, letting his loving embrace radiate through her. “I have to get a gift,” she explained, “for David and Catherine’s wedding, so I thought perhaps the children might fancy a trip to Oxford street and dinner in London.” 

Several of the young people removed their headphones as she commented, their focus now on her as she continued, “I also thought you might enjoy a nice evening in the quiet, without any responsibilities.” Hislop looked at her, tempted by the offer. “Come now,” she coaxed, “I’m sure with the new school year upon them, someone is bound to need a jumper or new shoes. Let me take them out.” Hislop looked over her shoulder at the anxious hoard behind her and chuckled, “You’re very good to do this,” he responded as the kids cheered to celebration, “but I would still hope to see you at service on Sunday. The occasional gift does not replace a relationship with our Lord.” Sophie imagined this was simply the approached to be expected from clergy, but tried to remember how little he knew about her life. It would be cruel to enlighten him about the frequency and subjects in her ongoing conversation with God. “I will be at service this Sunday,” Sophie responded, “you have my word.”

With Hislop pleased and her would-be siblings in tow, Sophie set out for Oxford Street. “Pair up and stay together!” she instructed, “The sooner we sort out a bit of necessary shopping, the sooner we can have something really special for dinner. Agreed?” The children fed their passes into the turnstyle as they entered the tube station bound for the Victoria line. Sophie then led them up the stairs to Oxford Circus, directing them down the street to Marks and Spencer. “You know what you need, go collect what you need and meet me in outerwear in forty minutes.” The children scattered and Sophie called after them, “On your best behavior!” Sophie looked at her watch, tapping it to activate the recording points she placed on the children before walking outside and crossing into Selfridges. Her dresser was awaiting her at the Louboutin counter with several designs of shoes and handbags already pulled for her. 

Sophie tapped her nails against the counter top, splitting her attention between the audio channeling through her glasses and the clerk in front of her. “Have you ever woken up one morning, and hated everything in your wardrobe?” Sophie mused aloud. She shrugged, tapping four of the handbags as the rest were taken away. The personal shopper offered a seat, opening the first shoe box and allowing her to try it on. Sophie stood, taking a few paces in the shoe before she nodded agreeably. “You were right,” she admitted, “I’ll have them in each color, and the handbags, and any of the new line that you think will suit.” The personal shopper scribbled the order down as Sophie stepped out of the heel and into her own. “Also, the new Chanel stilettos in your catalog, page 28. I’ll have those as well, in red.” Sophie signed the order slip, “Please have them delivered and I will return anything that doesn’t suit. Thank you.”

Sophie accepted the receipt, listening to the children as they continued to shop. She continued to housewares, ticking off another in a growing list of things she found herself avoiding. She wondered what her David saw in Catherine before realizing they they were likely as different now as she had become. Life changes you, but though she did sometimes feel a small pang of regret at witnessing others reach these milestones, she felt very content with her life as it was. Being a mother was simply not a viable reality without giving up Kingsman, and Sophie was never going to do that. As for marriage - anyone other than Harry and she wasn’t interested. Harry didn’t seem interested, so it didn’t matter. The clerk approached with the registry, offering it for Sophie to examine. “No need,” Sophie offered, “simply select the third most expensive item on the registry. Do you offer a wrapping service?” The clerk nodded, handing Sophie a gift tag to personalize as she rang the items. 

While standing at the credit point, Sophie remembered Harry’s defense of her that morning. He must not have known she was monitoring his feed, but she needed to hear what was said after she left and was pleasantly surprised by his response. She loved him so much, and often wondered if she adequately expressed that in a meaningful way. “Tell me,” she asked meekly as the clerk rang items, “what would you recommend for the man who has everything? What do people send each other?” The clerk accepted her credit card with a swipe and presented a slip for her to sign. “You can deliver this as well I hope,” Sophie asked, “I won’t be attending the service I’m afraid.” The clerk confirmed, taking down the information as Sophie returned the slip. “Alcohol,” the clerk announced as Sophie gripped her purse. She looked at the clerk, confused as he explained, “for the man who has everything. Perhaps a nice bottle of something.” 

Sophie smiled, grateful for the suggestion as she made her way back upstairs while listening to her feed. The children were debating where she might be, so Sophie calmly walked back across to meet them and pay for their selections. “I’m thinking theatre,” Sophie teased, “perhaps a bit of drama. What would you say to Benihana?” With the children excitedly carrying their bags, Sophie walked them down the lane and to the restaurant. She was engaging in complicated game of grief avoidance, which had at this point involved literal handbags and gladrags. She missed Harry, but until she was certain how to articulate her feelings she thought missing him was somehow better. She wondered if she could sneak a single kiss while at work. This prospect could prove thrilling if she wasn’t certain no one would discover them in her office. No one ever happens upon it. 

Sophie returned the children to the home, reassuring Hislop before returning home and shedding her suit. As she slipped into her silk pajama top, Sophie finished her cup of chamomile tea and returned it to the kitchen when a knock grabbed her attention. Grasping her weapon, Sophie checked her glasses only to discover Harry standing alone at the door. She set her pistol on the side table and opened the door. “Yes?” Sophie said softly, wondering if she could have forgotten an agreed meeting.” Harry’s eyes took her in, and his adoring expression was soft and beautiful. “Hello Canary,” he said softly. Sophie looked up at him, her face showing a relief that she showed no awareness of. Harry brushed her blushing cheek as he leaned in for an intensely passionate kiss. Sophie shuddered as Harry’s tongue slipped into her mouth and massaged her own. He showed no interest in rushing, taking her neck in his grip as he continued to kiss her.

Sophie closed her eyes as Harry pulled from her, touching his cheek to hers. “Sweet dreams, Canary,” he whispered into her ear before he turned and walked away. As Sophie opened her eyes and caught him at the staircase she called out to him. “Wait,” she called, euphoric, “is that all you wanted?” Sophie blushed as she touched her cheek and realised she was at the door practically undressed. Harry looked her over slowly as he replied, “No. It isn’t,” Harry turned around the handrail and reached the first step, “but I do believe it’s what we both needed.” Sophie smiled, wondering, _How did he always seem to know?_  
She looked up at him, her devotion burning within her. “Goodnight Galahad. And thank you.”  
Harry smiled, “Goodnight Guinevere,” he replied as he descended the stairs and left her. 

 

TUESDAY

Sophie lay awake, watching the light conquer the sky as morning settled up London. The days were beginning to run together, and Sophie was desperate to roll over and refuse to accept the day’s arrival. Yet, every time she found a comfortable position and closed her eyes, she saw Lancelot’s face. Yesterday’s ill-tempered and foolish exchange was persistent in her thoughts, making Sophie both dread returning to work and absolutely determined to do so. She sat up, rolling her neck and stretching her back before she stood and stumbled to the bathroom. She opened the medicine chest, pressing the false back to display five bottles with brightly colored pills hidden behind it. Edwin advised that regular usage of these required a filing of declaration with HQ, causing Sophie to refrain from even having taken one. These were unusual circumstances, however, and Sophie had no intention of allowing fellow Kingsman to see her exhausted and emotional. 

She opened the bottle containing white capsules, taking two of them and placing them between her teeth. She looked back, dripping eye drops into her eyes as she bit down on the capsules and let the liquid contained inside trickle down her throat. She took a deep breath as she felt the surge from her mind down, filling her with energy. No longer tired, she looked down and examined her reflection with a slight frown. She was paler than she liked, and knew a bit of makeup was going to be necessary, but she felt alive again.  
Alive, again. Sophie groaned to herself, Gordon Bennett, Sophie.  
Sophie switched on her shower tap, grabbing her razor and shedding her pajama top while the water warmed. She only needed to get through today. Then, tomorrow. If she continued like that, it would get easier to let him go and breathe again. She knew that from experience. One day at a time.

Sophie skipped the locker room, carrying her coat and case straight through to the elevator and down to the Office of Grail Pursuit. She scanned her retina at the plate beside the door, opening it and throwing his coat and case into the supply closet before taking a seat behind her desk. It wasn’t like her to avoid the paperwork - in fact, she usually had it done before the plane landed. Two days had passed since, however, and Sophie seemed unable to will herself to putting any feelings about the event on file. She stared at the computer screen, trying her best to take herself back to the awful afternoon. Sophie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and sighing slowly. What I need is coffee, she thought. She closed the dossier and checked the service rotation, over to note that the charlady was not slated to make rounds in this department. Sophie supposed that was sensical, since she was so seldom in the office. 

She abandoned her desk, walking with a determined pace to the small kitchenette where the espresso machine and tea was available. She tapped out and rinsed the coffee before refilling it with ground coffee and grasping a paper cup. She focused on the machine, taking no notice of traffic as it passed. The richly scented liquid spilled into her cup as Harry slowed his gait to greet her. “Good day Guinevere,” he offered cheerfully, “I trust you day is going well?” Sophie added the boiling water to the shots of espresso silently. She wanted to speak with Harry, but that would leave to smiling, and eventually the deep desire to hold him. Sophie couldn’t risk that in the office, and she didn’t trust herself to conceal it on such little sleep. “Yes,” she replied simply, “thank you Galahad.” With that, she grasped the cup and left the station to return to her office. Harry watched her walk away, remembering the first time he had seen another agent die. 

Sophie set the empty paper cup at the corner of her desk and looked at the clock. She had already been in this room an hour, and had nothing to show for it. Sophie rested her head in her hands and muttered aloud, “Why wouldn’t you listen to me?” Her concentration was broken by a knock at the office door. Confused, Sophie lifted her head and pressed the release to open the door as Arthur stepped through it. “I thought a cup of tea might be a welcome treat,” he offered, setting the cup onto the desk. “Thank you Arthur,” Sophie replied, unsure how to respond to his tone. Arthur gestured to the chair, “May I have a seat?”  
“Please do,” Sophie offered, gesturing to the chair as Arthur took a seat. He looked around the office, noting the many maps and books lining the walls of the small space. “It is a difficult time in any agent’s journey, the first time they witness the death of a colleague. Strange how different it can be from merely being informed that someone is lost,” Arthur remarked, a foreign sincerity in his voice.

“How very true,” Sophie responded sadly. For a moments, silence overtook the conversation and Sophie wondered if Arthur was waiting on something from her. “Still,” Sophie continued, “One must press on, even through the darkest moments. The world doesn’t stop, and neither can we.” Sophie lifted the cup in a modest gesture of thanks before she sipped it down. “I know we haven’t necessarily seen eye-to-eye in the past,” Arthur continued, “but that isn’t to say that I don’t feel some pride for the agent you have become. You have become quite an asset to Kingsman; and if I have at times been hard on you, it is only because in this business one simply cannot afford to be soft.” Arthur looked seriously at her and said sternly, “Treating you like a lady would have done you do good at all.” Sophie acknowledged the point, at least as Arthur saw it. Not being a lady was fair enough, but there was no excusing others not being gentlemen. 

“I appreciate your efforts,” Sophie responded, doing her best to sound pleasant. She returned to her tea, unsure if further conversation were wise. “I just want you to know that we understand if you need to take your time and ease back into the work. I informed the family personally, and I want you to go ahead and take your decompression for as long at you need,” Arthur soothed. Sophie was oddly touched by Arthur’s attempt at being supportive. She knew he did not like her, but after yesterday’s exchange he seemed to support her. This was most unexpected, and Sophie found herself overwhelmed with emotion. Her lower lips quivered, catching Arthur’s notice. “You see my dear,” he continued, “You are clearly pushing yourself too hard. Go home.” Normally, Sophie would be furious at such a condescending response, except part of her agreed with him. “I’ll have everything finished by the end of the week,” Sophie assured him as she stood.

Arthur stood as well, nodding in support as she collected her coat and stopped at the door. “Arthur,” she called as he approached her, “I’m only a bit tired. You can count on me.”  
“That my child,” Arthur said confidently, “I knew before anyone else here.” Sophie stood dumbstruck by his flattering remark, allowing him to open the door and hold it for her. Sophie stepped through it before stopping and turning back to thank Arthur again. She then left the office. Arthur was right that she needed a rest, and she was indeed grateful to no longer be in her office. She turned over the unusual exchange in her mind, bursting into laughter as pondered. What the hell was he on about? She wondered in confusion, chuckling softly to herself. Perhaps Arthur had a point: a little indulgence might be the necessary tonic. Sophie left the shop, deciding to get a bit of relaxation in on her surprise afternoon and devoted herself to a few hours to unwind. She flagged a cab and was whisked away from the shop.

She plunged into the warmed water and floated back to the surface, beginning her breath stroke. She traveled the length of the lap pool, turned and did it again. As she reached each wall, she immediately felt the urge to push herself a little farther. As her muscles become sore, Sophie found that she felt alive - and she wanted to savor that feeling and its delicious high. When she finally stopped to catch her breath, Sophie found herself unable to keep her tears at bay. For the first time since the incident, Sophie wept as indiscreetly as possible while collecting her things and withdrawing to the dressing room. Once inside the stall, she broke down, weeping silently into her towel, both for the loss of her partner but also from the unexpected and desperately desired words of kindness from Arthur. Sophie took several slow breaths, washed her face and left the gym looking completely normal. Across town, Harry was summoned to the door to accept a case of French wine. Under sender, it simple said, “From the Canary.” 

 

WEDNESDAY

Sophie stepped into The Black Prince, taking in the ambiance as she unzipped her leather coat. Harry spotted her as she entered, walking over to greet her. “Good evening Harry,” she whispered, “quite the spot you’ve chosen. Planning to pledge your allegiance to the House of Plantagenet?” Harry waved across the bar as he smiled at her quip. “That might prove redundant, but the night is young. One shouldn’t wonder where it might end up.” Sophie grinned as they were approached by a young, clean cut man carrying two pints with him. “Sophie Hollander,” Harry announced as he passed his fresh pint of Guinness into her hand, “I‘d like you to meet Lee Unwin.” Sophie’s eyes passed between the men as she extended her hand and shook his. Lee noticed Harry sacrifice his pint, and excused himself to order another to replace it. “How have you been feeling?” Harry asked once Lee left and they were alone.

Sophie sipped her Guinness, glancing at him but remaining silent. She accepted the invite to Kenington, but had no intention of discussing her feelings. “What are we doing here Harry?” Sophie asked after a healthy drink. Harry’s expression was thoughtful if a bit concerned as he examined her face and cleared his throat. “I am making my selection for our next proposal,” he explained, “and I value your opinion. I was hoping you might have some insight into my choice.” Harry looked out at the bar, his body language reserved in the public place, “I’ve barely seen you at all this week, so it was an opportunity for both work and pleasure.” Sophie blinked a few times, lifting the Guinness back to her lips before glancing back at him. “It has been an unusual week,” she admitted, “I’m sorry for being unavailable.” She looked up from her glass to meet his kind gaze as he quietly soothed, “Think nothing of it. Truly.”

Lee returned, handing Harry a pint which he accepted with thanks. “I hope this wasn’t too far from you,” Lee offered hopefully, “I didn’t want to be too far from the wife before I go back to work.” Sophie looked at him, confused by his admission as Harry gently touched her elbow and walked over to the now available dartboard. “You’re married?” Sophie asked, trying to conceal her curiosity at his admission. Surely Harry knew of this, which puzzled Sophie. He waved to them, and Sophie walked with Lee over to the board. “Must be difficult,” Sophie broached, “being married to a soldier who goes away on dangerous missions.” Sophie set her flight bag from her wrist onto the table, unzipping it and checking her flights. “Yeah, but Michelle has our boy at home. He’s a good lad - and they take care of each other.” Lee looked so proud as he answered her, and Sophie looked over at Harry to ensure he too had heard the admission. 

“Do you have any children?” Lee asked, startling Sophie from her thoughts. She turned back to him, at a loss for how to answer the question. “No,” she said simply, her cheeks growing red as she found herself feeling oddly attacked by such a personal question. She had not thought of having children in years, and being asked about them directly stunned her. “I suppose I’ve just been focused on my work,” Sophie said flippantly, not looking at Harry but paying special attention to his every reaction as she tightened the shaft of her dart and stepped to the board. “Well, you’re a young woman yet,” Lee offered happily, “still plenty of time for all of that.” He sipped his beer as Sophie sighted and threw her darts. “Sophie would be a brilliant mother,” Harry added, “Should the time come. Luckily for us, her talents are devoted to our organization.” Sophie collected her darts as Harry noted her score. “Not in the cards, I’m afraid,” she resolved.

“So, you’re a tailor as well,” Lee inquired, “like Harry?” Sophie felt her composure return as the subject switched to work, and finished her pint with a subtle wink at him but gave no comment on the matter. “I suppose your choice of pub makes sense,” Sophie remarked, “He was very well dressed.” Sophie chuckled softly to herself as she set the glass down, “So, you wish to be a tailor? It can be quite difficult work.” Lee looked seriously at her and she met his gaze, holding it seriously for a moment. Harry lingered, taking the opportunity to step to the bar and order the next round while they spoke. “No you ever regret it, the work you do?” he asked softly. Sophie looked hard at him, failing to blink for what seemed like minutes. “It’s just that,” Lee explained, “it’s like this just dropped in my lap, and I’ve got Michelle to think of and Eggsy…” Lee smiled, “That’s my boy’s name. When I think about the life I could give them, I have to try.”

Lee shrugged as Harry returned with pints in hand. Sophie look at Lee, and couldn’t help but feel as though she were already seeing his end. What a terrible thing to imagine, she thought, before she replied honestly, “Never. I absolutely love what I do. So will you.” She smiled at him, and her eyes traveled over to Harry, who looked incredibly pleased at her supportive remark. Lee collected his darts and walked to the board. “You do favor the underdogs,” Sophie said softly, seemingly speaking to no one. Harry sipped his pint, sighing softly. “Do you not think he shows potential?” he asked. Sophie didn’t look at him, instead watching Lee collect his darts from the board while chatting with a local. Sophie decided then that she would keep her distance from him, unsure if she could take the risk of getting to know a novice, especially one with a family. Optimism was Harry’s talent. “I think he’s brilliant,” she answered pleasantly, “well chosen.”

The game concluded, and Lee checked the time. “I really should be going,” he commented, “I promised I wouldn’t be out all hours since I’m leaving tomorrow.” He offered his hand to Sophie, who gave him a firm shake as Harry opened the door and held it for the party. “It was nice meeting you,” Lee continued, “I see where Harry was coming from - you are a fierce opponent.” Sophie smiled as Harry remarked, “You have no idea.”  
“Another time perhaps,” Sophie interjected.  
“I’d like that,” Lee replied, shaking Harry’s hand before he took his leave and began walking back to his flat. Sophie watched him with a wistful expression which intrigued Harry. “Why did you say that bit about me being a mother earlier?” Sophie asked, still watching Lee as he faded from view. There was a sadness in her voice that Harry couldn’t place, yet couldn’t ignore.

“I said it,” Harry answered, “because it is true.” Sophie looked back at him as they stood together outside the pub. “Perhaps,” she mumbled simply. She smiled modestly as if to reassure him, but there was still a gloom about her. “Would you join me this evening?” Harry asked sweetly. He took a small step closer to her and hushed, “Come home with me, Canary.” Sophie swallowed hard, smiling but stepping back. “I can’t tonight, actually,” she explained, “I have work to complete back in the office.” She rested a reassuring hand over his as he glanced at his watch. “It’s after 10PM,” Harry responded. Sophie released his hand, zipping her coat as she looked across the street. “Yes, and I’m long overdue. Good luck with your proposal. Goodnight Harry,” she said softly. Harry remained on the street, watching as she crossed the street and walked down the path until she disappeared. She failed to look back to him. 

 

THURSDAY

Sophie sat at her desk, staring at the computer screen. The cursor blinked back at her, as if to antagonize her for not having completed this mission paperwork so far. It had been five days since the mission failed. Sophie had never taken that long to complete paperwork. Maybe a cup of coffee? She contemplated, before looking over at the three empty cups at the corner of her desk from Tuesday and frowning. The cleaner often forgot this office due to its infrequent usage.  
No more stalling. Sophie resolved, let’s get this over with. Sophie rolled back in her office chair, removed her glasses and set them on a thick black square on her desk. She lifted a small remote resembling a pack of gum and pressed a button, projecting the synced image onto the wall beside her desk. She rolled the footage back quickly, stopping when the blurry blue of sky and ocean shifted to a brownish grey. Sophie leaned the chair back, scrolling back slowly until she saw his face.

Lancelot’s face took up most of the wall, projected from the cloud account connected to Sophie’s glasses. She looked up at it as she remembered that awful afternoon and tried to figure out how to explain the tiny decisions made in the seconds before everything ends. She clenched her teeth and pressed play, running her fingers over her lips as her voice filled the room.  
“What are you doing?” the recording demanded, “Come here so I can secure you. We don’t have much time.” Sophie watched his face soften, seeing him come to resolution in a way she hadn’t seen on the day. Watching the video now, she could see him look over her harness as she worked. “Take this,” Lancelot ordered, placing the detonator into her hands as she scrambled fruitlessly to draw him to her for the skyhook pickup. “Lancelot please, I’ve done the calculation. This will work if you will just take these straps,” Sophie pleaded anxiously.

Sophie sat up, pausing the recording and looking at his face for several minutes. Why didn’t you listen to me? Sophie sighed, turning back to her computer screen. The cursor blinked back at her. Blink. Blink. Blink.  
Sophie remembered this moment lasting much longer on the day. The adrenaline coursed through her veins as she worked through factoring the weight to connect them both to the skyhook and deploy it before the enemy caught them. Then Lancelot stopped. He placed the detonator into her hand but wouldn’t listen to her. Sophie stood and paced back and forth between the desk and the door, passing his face and absorbing the warm light of the colorful projection as she passed through it. She wanted to be furious at him but she couldn’t quite look beyond those last moments and words that passed between them on the clifftop.

She looked at the clock - 11:23PM. She wondered if Harry were still awake, perhaps watching his new recruit on the first night’s evaluation. Sophie might feel jealous of him for getting to have a hand in selecting the future of Kingsman if she weren’t standing in this room avoiding the job. Perhaps Arthur is right about me. Sophie rubbed her eyes and pointed the remote at the projector when she looked up from her fingers in thought. She walked back to her desk and tabbed back from her feed, letting the image of Lancelot fade from the office wall. Scrolling over to Lancelot’s folder, she opened his feed and launched the footage to the projector. She played the footage, rolling it forward to the last few minutes. “...just take these straps,” she echoed from his perspective. Sophie looked up at her own confused frustration, listening for the second time as Lancelot pointed at the detonator. “When the time comes, use it,” he instructed as they heard shouting in the distance.

“What?” Sophie asked, looking past him to ascertain the threat. Lancelot took advantage of her break in focus, grabbing the ripcord for skyhook. “I owed you one,” he said calmly, “consider us even.” Sophie sat in the dark of the office, watching as he snatched the cord, and watched her pull back from him and into the air for retrieval. Lancelot watched her shout and reach for him with a quiet dignity as she ascended from the cliff and her lift connect with the plane sent to extract them. Sophie watched as the feed pulled and the feed ended abruptly, leaving the projector blank and filling the room in light. He was gone. There was nothing she could do. They shot him while she watched from the air as her extraction team pulled in into the plane, and once inside she detonated the explosive. Lancelot’s body blew apart, taking with it three North Korean soldiers who had been hovering over him looking for identification.

Sophie switched off the projector, sitting in the darkness and thinking back to that day. She wanted to be grateful to him, for his fearlessness and sacrifice. She hoped that when her time came she was equally stoic. She hoped that he wasn’t afraid. Sophie also found herself wishing he knew about her and Harry, though she knew it was impossible. She knew he thought little of her life, and yet he gave his for her. She shook the mouse, bringing the screen back to that cursor which had plagued her most of the day. She wasn’t sure if there was some cosmic arithmetic that could explain why we live and others don’t, or perhaps why she so often benefited from its design, but she did know that she was incredibly happy to be alive and she was deeply ashamed of that happiness. Sophie rubbed the Joseph of Arimathea pendant pinned to her bra and began typing the report of the final mission in the life of Michael Fellowes. 

 

FRIDAY

Several Kingsman were in attendance at the service for Michael Fellowes, though none of them acknowledged one another. They merely filed in, tried to linger in the back and took a seat to pay their respects without drawing any attention. Sophie hadn’t had to inform the family, as Arthur volunteered to do so, and took her seat in the back row silently as the service began. Harry watched her from his pew casually but she failed to notice him as she fixed her gaze forward and ignored everything else. Harry knew Sophie had taken seeing her fellow Kingsman die with great difficulty, and as she sat there in her simple black dress and modest styling he could see the toll her grief was taking. For the first time he could recall, she looked tired. Harry returned his focus to the service, hoping to connect with her as they left the church but as he stood to leave she had already gone. Harry gave a subtle nod to Merlin and Gareth as he slowly made his way from his pew and out onto the street. He looked in either direction, but there was no sign of her. 

 

Sophie sat in the nearly empty theater, watching Peter Sellers talk circles around a bewildered Ian Carmichael as she quietly enjoyed her popcorn. Her glasses blinked faintly, a message appearing in her field of vision:  
_I quite like this film._  
Sophie read the message but didn’t look up for the sender. She had been of a prickly disposition the entire week, and was unsure if his turning up in the cinema annoyed or flattered her. She wondered if she would find his advances charming if they weren’t in a relationship, and if explaining that to him was worth the possible quarrel.  
_Are you behind me?_  
She asked, unwilling to draw attention to herself by looking about. She was glad he was there, even if she found his method annoying. She needed the cheer, nothing lately seemed to work.  
_I am always behind you._

Sophie sighed softly to herself, standing and leaving the theater alone. Harry watched her exit queerly, pausing for a moment to consider before slowly rising to follow her outside. He stepped into the lobby, finding it empty before continuing out onto the street. Sophie was already two blocks away from him, strolling casually away from the theater. Harry was puzzled by her demeanor, but as she maintained a slower pace than normal he read an invite in her actions as he began walking briskly to catch up to her. Sophie noted his footsteps, marking their distance as she continued walking along. “I propose an experiment,” Sophie called with a sarcastic mirth as Harry approached her, “In the future, when you say something to me, say it first in your mind and ask yourself: do I sound creepy?” Sophie cast her piercing green eyes back at him for the first time, lending a light scold to her remark. 

“Creepy?” Harry asked defensively. Harry walked a step behind her, considering their most recent exchange. “I only meant to be encouraging, Canary.” His voice was soft and his tone sincere, and Sophie felt poorly for chiding him. “I know that,” she admitted, “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Sophie stopped at the cross streets, shaking her head before she continued, “Yes I do know what I’m thinking, and if I cannot say it to you then I am well and truly buggered.” She looked back at Harry, her frustration subdued but evident. “I know that when you are speaking to me you only have good intentions, Harry. I know this because I know you,” she explained, “and yet when other agents do it, there is this condescension behind the chivalry. I am patronized at every turn, and these paper cuts I take gladly on a good day because I love the work but I cannot bear it this week. Not after knowing my life might depend on being the damsel.”

Sophie continued across the street with Harry following, her pace quickening but the distance between them closed. “Please explain what you mean,” Harry implored, “I’m not sure I understand completely and I want to.” He wanted to touch her but refrained as her body language was contained and cold. She had changed outfits since the funeral, and her long pencil skirt stopped just below her bust, holding even her tie tightly to her frame. Only her stilettos gave a hint of color, their deep red in stark contrast to her black ensemble. “He pushed me away,” Sophie explained, “triggering the skyhook and sending me off without him. Then he died. We could’ve gone together. I could’ve made it fit. He cheated me and I want to be cross with him but he died, and since I returned every well-intentioned comment sears.” Sophie shrugged, exhausted with her grief, “There are times when I hate being a woman.”

Harry grasped her hand as she continued walking and pulled her focus back to him. “Don’t say things like that,” he requested seriously. He gently squeezed it in his grip, his eyes pleading with her as she looked back at him. Harry’s expression seemed to soften her resolve, and she looked down as her lower lip began to quiver slightly. “I could’ve made it work Harry,” she whispered, “We both would’ve fit. I know it. If only he would listen to me.” Sophie fell silent but for an audible sniff, and as the first tear spilled down her cheek Harry wiped it away and drew her into a gentle hug. “Listen to me,” Harry soothed, “I cannot speak to your deep cover mission experiences, but I can tell you that when working in groups, many agents would do whatever necessary to save a colleague. I am certain Lancelot would’ve made exactly the same decision with me, just as I would have if I believed it would save the life of a fellow Kingsman.”

He gingerly patted her back, feeling the minute heaving of her shoulders as she tried to hide her weeping. “I don’t think your being a woman had anything to do with his decision,” Harry reasoned, “after all, I know you would have done the same for him.” Sophie looked up from his chest, stepping back from him as she considered her response. “When my being a woman has affected every other experience with Lancelot, you cannot imagine the pressure of wondering if this time it was different. That’s the question that is forever in my mind,” she explained. “Will it be different this time? Am I a lady or just the tightass this time?” Harry tried to understand her point, only to realise that he had never given more than a passing thought to the these comments; and though he saw them merely as a mark of ignorance in his fellow agent she clearly did not share his indifference. “It’s easier for me to be forgiving of Michael,” Harry admitted, “he sent you back home to me.” 

Sophie nodded, but didn’t look up at him. “I’m...going to go home,” she said, “you know where that is.” She patted his chest, leaving her hand on the rich wool of his overcoat for a moment before straightening her posture and turning back to her path. Harry watched her walking along, her heels striking the ground with a graceful strength as they carried her forward. Her invitation had been plain, and Harry had every intention of taking her up on it. He followed along, lingering behind her as she approached her building to ensure she entered safely and without being observed before he entered the building and ascended the stairs. Sophie was inserting her key into her door on the top floor when Harry reached the floor and looked about. “Mrs. Fitzgerald no longer lives here,” Sophie announced, her back still to Harry, “moved to a care home, the dear thing. No one lives there now. I bought it specifically to prevent a possibly nosy neighbor.” 

Sophie threw a glance back at Harry as she opened the door and entered her flat. She left the door ajar, dropping her coat across her chair and her handbag beside it. Harry entered and closed the door. Sophie pulled the long pin from her hair, releasing it and letting it spill around her shoulders. She didn’t turn to face him, nor did she say anything as she unzipped the skirt and dropped it at her feet. Harry watched her as she stepped out of the skirt and walked down the hall to her room, dropping her tie as she passed through the doorway. Harry slipped his overcoat away from his shoulders and placed it in her closet as he looked at the trail of clothing leading to her bedroom door. “Harry?” Sophie called as she brushed her hair, “Please come here.” Harry peered into the bedroom, catching Sophie’s view as she looked through the mirror of her vanity and brushed her hair. “Did you mean what you said?” she asked, “Do you think Lancelot acted normally?”

“I do,” Harry assured her, “He acted just as I would have or anyone else.” Harry took a cautious step toward her, taking care to honor her recent request concerning his remarks. “I always mean what I say to you,” he added. Sophie smiled meekly, leaning forward to set her brush onto her vanity. Harry couldn’t help but stare as it became clear that Sophie wasn’t wearing any undergarments beneath her tailored shirt. “What do you need Canary?” Harry asked softly, “How can I help?” Sophie looked back at him through the mirror, pressing her lips together before turning to lean against the vanity and face him. “I need control,” she said simply, “lately it feels as though everything is ending, and more than ever that grasp seems beyond me.” Sophie touched her fingertips to her lips and looked to the side, focusing on nothing. “I’ve tried exercise, prayer, shopping,” she said with a laugh, “firing my weapon. Lately nothing helps.”

Harry listened as she confessed aloud, “When you are underwater, the hardest part is figuring out which way is up. If I can regain the feeling of control over one part of my life, I’ll know how to reach the surface. Am I making sense, Harry?” Harry smiled modestly, relieved at her confidence in him. “You are making perfect sense,” he replied, “especially after your experience. Remember how you felt after your first mission?”  
Sophie hadn’t thought of her first mission in years. She was relieved to be saying these things to Harry, and more so to see his reaction to it. “Canary,” Harry called, drawing her attention as he knelt in front of her. “Whatever are you up to?” she asked, her tone amiable as she looked down.  
“I’m offering you control,” he answered passionately, “to help you find the surface.”  
Harry studied her face, his warm eyes offering loving reassurance as she stroked his hair.

“Come on,” she said softly, lifting his arm as rose to his feet. He stood close to her as she helped him to his feet, resting her hands at his waist. She had failed to find inspiration in literally looking down on him, but it was quite different with him so close to her. Sophie felt his warmth as she looked up into his brown eyes, saying nothing as she worked to open his trousers and reach inside them. “What are you-” Harry began playfully, only to be shushed into silence by Sophie as she began stroking him slowly. “You wish to give yourself to me?” Sophie asked, nodding slowly as Harry nodded in return, closing his eyes at the sensation. She leaned forward, her lips near his ear as she instructed, “Take off your clothes. Lay down on the bed and wait for me.” Sophie then released him, walking from the room and down the hall to her kitchen. She rather liked the idea of him waiting in bed for her. There was something wicked in it. She reached into the pantry, retrieving a small bottle of brandy and poured herself a dram. She turned the glass in her fingers, threw it back, and sighed before she turned back to her bedroom.

Sophie walked confidently into her bedroom, climbing onto her bed and straddling Harry. She rested her stilettos on his thighs, and as Harry lifted to meet her she placed her hand on his chest and pressed him back down onto the bed. “I’m always talking,” she said with a shrug, looking out into the room, “Tell me Harry, do you think of me when I’m away? Of us?” She hovered over him, brushing her aching womanhood across him as his arousal grew. “Yes,” he breathed, “I think of you every day.” Sophie smiled, continuing her slow rhythmic teasing along his firm shaft. “Do you touch yourself when you think of me?” she asked, tracing her nails lightly down his chest. Harry struggled to remain composed, his hips rising in an effort to grind against her. Sophie lifted, dashing his efforts and looking into his eyes. “Yes,” he confessed, “almost nightly. I read your field reports and I stroke myself.” He blushed as he admitted this out loud to her.

This information elated Sophie, “You read my field reports. Why does that arouse you?” She asked as she admired his body, running her hands over his muscular sides before reaching back to face away from him. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she offered, twisting back to remove her heels when Harry stopped her. “Please leave them,” he asked lustfully. Sophie released the heel, letting them rest at his sides. “I know that my love is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Harry answered, “I read your reports and I see that she is also the strongest, bravest, cleverest woman I’ve ever known as well.” Harry lifted his hips, pressing his erection to her with a low moan. Sophie leaned forward, guiding him inside her as she slowly rocked back over him. Her relieved whimper encouraged Harry, who began guiding her hips over him in waves. “I find it very arousing indeed to watch empires crumble in your wake.” 

Sophie leaned back, moaning as he sank deeply into her. “If you only knew how I longed to touch you on those nights,” he cooed, “how I longed to taste you and hear your cries of ecstasy, you’d never feel powerless again.” She looked back over her shoulder impishly as he clutched her hips, raising an eyebrow as she looked down at him. “You could touch me now,” she proffered flirtatiously. Harry responded by sitting up and ripping her tailored shirt in a single forceful grasp, exposing her breasts and sending mother-of-pearl buttons sailing from the bed. He wasted no time hugging to her back and squeezing her breasts as he thrust upward as much as he could in his position. Sophie leaned her head back, resting it on his shoulder as he found her mouth with his in a deep and probing kiss. Harry pressed his body to hers as if they could cease existing as separate entities and instead be consumed by their desire for one another. 

Sophie broke the kiss, panting as Harry kissed her cheek and forehead before slipping from her and steering her around to face him. “Tell me you love me,” Sophie requested, her fatigue beginning to show. Harry laughed warmly as he brushed her hair from her face and drew his knees in to rest on them. “Love you?” he laughed, “I have no choice but to love you!” Harry cradled Sophie’s neck, guiding her backward onto the bed as he loomed over her. “The fire in your eyes and radiance of your spirit draw me like a siren to the rocks. I am guileless and childlike to resist your charms, and far too bewitched to even try.” Harry affirmed with another passionate kiss. He slipped back inside her with renewed energy as Sophie relaxed into the bed and accepted his hungry thrust. “You are a Goddess,” Harry pledged, “what I owe you isn’t love, but awe.” Harry punctuated each sentiment with a gentle kiss, “You are adored. Revered. Venerated.” He stopped, gazing into her eyes for a final declarative, “Mine.”

“Come for me Harry,” Sophie commanded, “Please, my love. I want to watch you.” She dropped her head onto the bed, gazing up at him affectionately. Harry was happy to oblige her, kissing and caressing her shoulder and neck as he listened to her moans. He cried out in bliss, feeling her seize around him, squeezing him tightly as he came into her. There they remained for a few euphoric moments before Harry kissed her cheek and slipped from her. “Do you need anything my dearest?” he asked sweetly as she rolled to her side and stepped sleepily to the bathroom. Sophie shook her head, stifling a yawn as she closed the door. Harry turned down the bed and double checked the doors before she emerged, tucking her in before washing up and joining her in the bed. There he spooned her close, kissed her shoulder, and listened as she drifted into peaceful sleep in his strong arms. 

 

The next morning, Harry bustled around Sophie’s kitchen making tea and looking for her biscuit tin. He failed to find it, but decided it was best not to disturb her over it. He removed the bags, wishing she had a proper tea strainer. Perhaps that would make a lovely Christmas gift, Harry thought, and whenever I am here, it would see some use. Harry sighed, resigning himself to her tea selection whenever she does the shopping. It was unusually quiet in Sophie’s flat this morning, and Harry knew this day was going to prove a difficult one for a great many homes in Britain. At the very least, Sophie’s recent gloom was not a feeling unshared for it seemed the whole country was grieving. Harry carried the tea into the bedroom, where Sophie remained in bed, watching the funeral of Princess Diana on her small television. Harry set the cup of tea on the bedside table before offering his handkerchief to his weeping partner. She accepted it with a simple sniff.

“Those poor children,” Sophie said simply, dabbing her eyes as she watched the princes walking along in the procession. Harry knew Sophie’s strong feelings concerning the loss of a parent, especially ones lost in automobile accidents, so this entire dreadful event rested heavy upon her. Harry wrapped a reassuring arm around Sophie, rubbing the small of her back slowly as she watched. Sophie merely sipped her tea silently, weeping into his handkerchief as she watched the broadcast. Although it could be the negligee, Harry couldn’t help noting now small and fragile she seemed in the large bed. He wasn’t concerned by this though, for she needn’t be a goddess everyday, so long as she remained his. He kissed her hand, taking it in his own and they watched the broadcast together in silence.


	3. All is Calm, All is Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers Sophie in the wee small hours of Boxing Day.
> 
> If you're curious about the concert Sophie went to celebrate you can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uE0G9iBbhuQ&index=13&t=193s&list=WL

Harry stirred, feeling in the darkness for Sophie. When he failed to find her, Harry lifted his head and switched on the dim lamp on his bedside table before sitting up to listen for her. For several moments, he heard nothing, only to hear the slightest sound from his dining room. Harry rose to his feet, wrapping his robe around his waist as he listened to the faint tapping against his china. Harry looked at the clock - 3:28AM. He wondered what was keeping her awake at such an hour, but stood by the bedroom door for several minutes while he debated whether or not to disturb whatever she was doing. “You should join me, Harry,” Sophie called softly, “don’t just stand there in your robe and listen.” Harry looked down at his robe as he heard her, smiling at her description as he opened the door and walked through to the dining room. There he saw her, sitting at the center of the table, eating leftover Christmas pudding in the low light from the kitchen.

“I didn’t wish to disturb you,” Harry replied, “if what you wish is to be alone.” Sophie didn’t look at him, slowly pulling the cleaned spoon from her lips. “This is your house,” Sophie quipped, scooping a second spoon of the pudding as she pushed the chair beside her to invite his company. “That..is a fair amount of cream,” Harry observed as he took the offered seat beside Sophie, who rested the spoon back in the bowl as she chewed her last spoonful. She looked at him sweetly, folding her leg under herself as she shifted to look at him. “I like a lot of cream,” she admitted humorously, drawing a soothing breath as she looked around the room. “I love it here,” she confessed, tracing her fingers along the polished wood grain of the table, “I love the quiet and the calm of it. I love the way everything reminds me of you - even the smell in the air.” Sophie smiled warmly, looking intently at him. “Your home is a reflection of you, and I love every part of it.”

Harry grinned at the description as Sophie took another spoon of the cream and pudding before drawing it to her lips. “Do you do this often,” he asked, “slipping away from me to take in the atmosphere late at night?” Sophie licked the spoon as she blushed, nodding as she chuckled. “I must admit, I have many times,” she answered, “but never without you here. Not until last week.” Sophie turned back to the pudding, setting the spoon back as they both took in the silence and thought about Lee. “He was a lovely young man,” Sophie comforted, “I am very sorry about that.” Harry nodded, a far away look in his eye as he stoically acknowledged the loss. “I think of his son,” Harry confessed, “and his poor wife. If only there was something I could do for them.” Sophie nodded her understanding. Though she often preferred not to speak on the work, knowing he understood as no one else could made her feel incredibly close to him.

“Maybe someday,” Sophie said, “one never knows.”  
“That is most diverting,” Harry said, gesturing to her spoon. Harry was often given to distraction while Sophie snacked. Sophie slowed her swoop to a crawl, letting her tongue caress the underside of the spoon as it cleared the cream. Her gaze never left Harry’s as she cleaned the spoon. “I know,” she flirted, “the way you look at me when I eat dessert…” Sophie clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. Harry gingerly traced his fingertips down her resting wrist as he took a deep breath. “I was jealous of the dessert,” he said mischievously, raising an eyebrow. Sophie reminded herself that it must’ve been nearly dawn as she laughed at his attempted flirtation. “You are terrible,” she laughed, “Dreadful. Thank goodness you’re so attractive and I am so shallow.” Sophie smirked, leaning closer to Harry, “I was rather dreadful myself recently. Would you like to hear about it?” 

“I absolutely would,” Harry chirped merrily. Sophie reached ahead of her place setting, grasping a large white envelope and removing the invitation from it. “Do you remember the night you met me for a game of arrows?” Sophie asked, handing over the invitation.  
“I remember having to give up my shirt,” Harry joked, “Is this David? How wonderful for him.” Harry lowered the invitation and looked at Sophie, who had a bittersweet look on her face. “Do you wish things had ended differently between you?” Harry asked carefully, brushing the back of his hand against the back of her hand, “It would be difficult, watching the people we know get married or become parents if it’s something you want. Is that how you feel?” Harry lifted the spoon, helping himself to a bit of the pudding from Sophie’s bowl as he waited for her reply. Sophie shrugged, “I don’t want any of it, yet with every one I slip away from them a little more.”

Sophie pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them as she looked at Harry. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about my life; but I still miss…” she described, “the people we were I suppose.” Sophie claimed the spoon and took another bite of her now melted dessert. “So I bought something posh for the wedding gift,” she said flippantly, “and a very nice card and then I told myself to let them go and fall out of touch. It’s for the best, really.”  
“How was that dreadful?” Harry asked, “That sounds like a perfectly lovely way to manage having to miss a friend’s wedding. I am certain they enjoyed the gift immensely.”  
“Oh - I didn’t miss the wedding,” Sophie corrected, “I simply didn’t go to the wedding.” Sophie licked the back of the spoon with a wicked smile, looking at Harry as he leaned over and whispered, “Simply dreadful, Miss Hollander. Dreadful!” He lifted and kissed the back of her hand as he leaned back, grinning sharply.

“I once told you that New Order was why I became a Kingsman,” Sophie explained, standing to refill her tea cup. Harry offered to follow, but Sophie patted his arm instead. “I do remember that,” he replied, “Although, I prefer to imagine you as my very own Emma Peel.”  
Sophie blushed, looking down at him. “Really, Steed?” she flirted back, “I thought you weren’t allowed to watch ITV?”  
Harry huffed, nodding as he replied, “Yes, but every schoolboy knew about Emma Peel.”  
She stepped back from the table, turning into the kitchen with a slight wiggle as she continued, “David surprised me with those tickets. They were to celebrate my acceptance to Imperial College. Royal Albert, 1986,” Sophie smiled as she set a cup of tea before Harry, “That was a fun night, now that I think about it.”

Harry watched as Sophie returned to her seat, a slight smile on her face. She turned to him, allowing him to stroke her knee as she recalled the night. “I could tell David wanted to formalize things before I went to school. He had already gone to work, and he had a little apartment he was sharing with a mate from work.” Sophie took a sip of tea, her good humor seeming to drift as she remembered the event so many years before. “So he collected me for the concert and asked me to spend the night with him, and I agreed,” she said, noting Harry’s expression as he listened. Harry sipped his tea in the moment of silence as Sophie lifted her knees, draping each leg across Harry’s lap and sliding closer to him in her dining chair. “What upset your plans?” Harry asked innocently, “If I understood you in 1992, you decided to wait quite a while.” Harry knew he was sailing perilously close to impertinence, yet he pressed on out of sheer curiosity.

Sophie thought back to that brisk October night, dancing together in spastic rhythm to ‘Bizarre Love Triangle.’ Sophie sipped her pint as the song ended, taking special care not to spill any on her leather jacket or the striped blouse beneath. She took a healthy drink of her beer as ‘The Perfect Kiss’ began and she pulled David back into her embrace. He swayed along with her, pushing her feathered hair out of her face as he lifted her chin and kissed her lips slowly.  
“Wait,” Harry interrupted, “your hair was feathered?” He stifled a light chuckle as he asked. Sophie looked at him, leaning against the table as Harry softly stroked her thighs which rest in his lap. Sophie blushed, not answering Harry’s attempt to shame her. “You can say what you like David,” Sophie remembered, “but as soon as I get my degree I’m shaking out all this gear and I’m whistling up proper. I’m going to look like a perfect English lady out of Uni, you’ll see.” 

David squeezed her, kissing her cheek as her held her in the back of the venue. “You’re going to be proper just like your mother,” he assured her, “just don’t go forgetting the rest of us, alright?” Sophie rolled her eyes, laughing at the absurdity in his request. “Do you know what a degree in chemical engineering means?” she laughed, finishing her pint and holding it atop her head.  
“I thought it was all the fancy swordplay you were going to study in college?” David said jovially.  
Sophie merely shook her head, the pint glass still in her grip above it, “It means a lab coat and an office job.” She lowered the glass with a sigh, then looked up at him with a smile. “Let’s get out of here,” she proposed, taking his hand and setting the glass along the back wall.  
Harry watched as Sophie’s expression slipped from the whimsical into the bemused as she said, “We might not be certain how love sparks, but we always know when the fire goes out.”

Sophie blinked hard, making eyes contact with Harry as she dismissed the indulgence of memory to explain the story. “We were mugged, just outside of the South Kensington underground station,” she continued, “who would have thought? Yet there we were, and when my handbag was taken David pushed me back when I went after the thief. Can you imagine such a thing? He actually pushed me to the ground!” Sophie paused briefly, stealing another bite of the pudding from the bowl and chewing it in slow bliss. “It’s really very good,” she gushed happily at Harry before returning to the story. “I watched that boy run off with my handbag, but I wasn’t mad at him,” she explained, “I was mad at David. When he helped me to my feet and held me - we were already broken Harry. And that night, as he tried to inspire my passion I realized that I was looking at an entire life with him. One where I had to be knocked down for my own good. One where I was a thing to be rescued. That wasn’t the sort of woman I wanted to be.”

Sophie sat silent for a few moments, enjoying Harry’s gentle strokes across her bare thighs. “So I told him I wasn’t ready, and I stayed busy at University in every way that I could. I didn’t like feeling weak, so I took classes in self-defense and of course I continued my fencing. Something had been stirred in me that night, and everything I did the next four years seemed to carry me until I met Arthur. I had found a purpose.” Sophie explained with a shrug as Harry studied her face. Harry rested his warm palms on her thigh and looked deeply into her eyes. “I know exactly what you mean,” he confided, “I had a very difficult choice between studying lepidopterology and joining the army, but once I had done it I knew I had made the right choice.” Harry gave a slight nod with a smile that exuded prideful reassurance. Sophie laughed quietly as she recalled, “Of course, David was furious. ‘What are you on about?’ he said. Then nothing for a long time.”

Sophie shrugged, “I was a bit of a bastard I suppose. Sometimes you have no choice but to hurt people. It’s the only choice they give you.” Sophie smiled at Harry, but there was a sadness in her eyes that Harry couldn’t bear remaining. “Couldn’t be all bad,” he countered, gesturing to the invitation, “even if you didn’t go, it looks as though everything worked out for him. You shouldn’t still feel badly about it.”  
“I don’t feel badly about it,” Sophie said flatly, “it will only be months before there’s a baby on the way. That’s what David wants. I never could…” Sophie admitted, “never would give him that, so I was right to turn him down and if I seem sad it is only as I ponder what sort of woman that makes me.” Sophie straightened her posture, finishing her tea with utmost poise, “Yet I do not feel badly at all about these choices I have made.”

Harry smirked as she set her empty tea cup onto the table. “Is this what you do late at night?” Harry mused, “You sneak away from my loving embraces to drink tea and think about things alone? Hm...” Harry chided playfully, “I do wish you shared your thoughts with me Canary, but I respect the space you need. I only hope my company proves better for you than the company of those you spend your evenings thinking about.” Sophie leaned in, slipping her hands between Harry’s as it rested on her thigh. As Harry gripped her hand in both of his own, she responded, “You are perfection, Harry Hart. You have never behaved as though I needed you - even when I was asking for your help. You always comfort me, and listen to me. You give me your time and your love, and I am better for it in every way. I am always amazed at your support,” Sophie whispered, “you never fail.”

Harry looked at her as if he were completely confused by her. Sophie leaned to the side, resting her temple against Harry’s shoulder as her legs rested across his lap. “You’re my girl,” Harry said, gently brushing his cheek against her head. He threw this into conversation with the ease of the obvious as he concluded, “You are my partner in all things, and I am always beside you.” Sophie looked up into his beautiful brown eyes and smiled, “Even when I can’t see you?”  
“Especially when you cannot see me, Canary,” he soothed, “I am always with you. Always.”  
Sophie returned to his shoulder as he held her hand in his. “I keep thinking of your young recruit,” Sophie carefully broached, “and that family. It’s quite right that Kingsman expects us to make sacrifices. Even if we don’t actually make them.” Harry looked down at her head as she sighed, “When you said I’d be a good mother… is that what you want someday?” 

Harry was surprised at the question, and was unsure how to respond. “It’s just that,” Sophie reasoned aloud, “am I to give up being a Kingsman when I become a mother? If I refused, what happens to the child? I couldn’t very well send them away.” Harry listened patiently to Sophie’s logic as she spilled aloud, “What if I died, Harry? I needn’t imagine the life of that child,” Sophie concluded, “I know that life.”  
Silence took over the conversation as Sophie rested against Harry’s shoulder. “What will I want someday…,” Harry asked, “was that the question?”  
Sophie lifted her face to look at him as he answered, “You are what I want. With you I have everything a man could desire; and although I do believe you would be a kind and loving mother, should it come to mean a life with you means no children ever…” Harry shook his head in dismissal, “then that is the way of it. So what?”

Harry was confident in his response, and Sophie looked seriously at him. “My love,” she choked out, her voice so low it nearly broke, “I must tell you something.” Harry turned to her, serious as he listened. He caressed her cheek and she continued, “Kingsman offered me a procedure, which would ensure I never became pregnant by anyone.”  
Harry’s expression hardened slightly, “Do you mean Arthur offered you this?” he asked, “Did he pressure you to make such a decision?” His tone was defensive and protective, and Sophie needed to hear it in this moment of weakness.  
“He was right,” Sophie said with a shrug, “it was a good idea, and I’m glad he made the offer to me. I only regret not telling you over time, but I was afraid of letting you down.”  
“So you’ve had this procedure,” Harry clarified, “was that during your recent decompression?”

“It was in 1993,” Sophie replied, her lack of emotion stunning Harry, “it was before you offered to make me dinner.” Sophie stared at the woodgrain, seeming to vacillate between concern and resolution as her confession hung in the air. Harry turned this new information over in his mind for a few moments. “Are you happy?” he asked directly, “Are you glad you made this decision?”  
Sophie blinked a few times, and smiled slowly, “Yes,” she said meekly, “I truly am, Harry.”  
Harry grinned warmly, squeezing her hand. “Then it doesn’t matter what I think,” he replied, “All I care about is your happiness.” Harry wrapped a supportive arm around Sophie, pulling her close to him. “Please don’t carry these things for so long in the future,” he requested, “Please share them with me so that I may support you from now on.” Harry kissed her temple, “We are partners in this.”

Tears of relief welled in Sophie’s eyes as she nodded her agreement to his terms. She sniffed softly, and Harry rested his head against hers. “It’s been a difficult year, my dearest,” she whispered, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Harry nodded, rubbing her upper arm in his palm. “That is true,” he acknowledged, “but tonight, or this morning perhaps: you are warm, you are safe, and you are loved.” Sophie looked up at him, their noses almost touching as he repeated, “You are loved.” Sophie leaned forward, connecting to his lips in a soft, slow kiss. As the kiss broke, Sophie smiled and replied, “...and it is lovely here, and still…”  
“Yes,” Harry continued, “and there is pudding.”  
“Lovely, gorgeous, moreish pudding!” Sophie said with a giggle, as Harry nuzzled her earlobe before placing a gentle kiss along the lobe, “I will fry some with your breakfast if you like.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Sophie yawned as she examined the clock, “Oh my goodness, it’s 5AM!” Sophie stretched her back, but Harry held his gaze, taking her sleepy form and committing it to his memory. “Say that thing again,” she whispered as she withdrew her legs from his lap and drowsily rose to her feet, “the part about being yours? Say it again Harry.”  
Harry stood, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her close. “You’re my girl,” Harry whispered to her, “now come to bed. After a proper lie-in, I will make you a breakfast fit for the Goddess you are.” Harry pushed her chair under the table, stepping out of her way as Sophie stretched a second time. “Happy Christmas, Guinevere,” Harry cooed, “It was my favorite gift: having you to share it.”  
“Happy Christmas Galahad,” she replied as she slipped her hand in his, abandoning the table in pursuit of his bed. Their fingers laced and both left the room together.


End file.
